


Inferno

by Xobit



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xobit/pseuds/Xobit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Introspective piece about names and naming</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inferno

**Author's Note:**

> For *mamabot on DA

“It’s sort of pretty…” her voice was quiet, quieter than the large fire truck was used to from his Creator. But she had been quiet since coming to the Earth. He was not used to worry for his Creator, it was just too strange… she had always been the one to worry and fuzz over him. Even when he grew out of his first frail vorns and became bigger and bigger, and bigger until he could carry her around on just one of his shoulders. 

Her joke had always been that the Allspark had thoughtfully provided for her old age. Even when the war came she had always said that she was not afraid to die for the Allspark meant her to live until she had to be carried around on her Creation’s shoulder all the time. 

It was different now; she was so pensive, so silent and seemed so deep in thought. 

Inferno resisted the urge to look at her, instead keeping his optics fixed on the rare show below them. Glowing paths of the planets life blood were cutting though the ice and snow. Nearer the volcano the snow was covered in ash, or melted… or evaporated in billows of white steam. 

“It is…” it was pretty, and terrifying in a way. Cybertron’s nature had been tame compared to that of this young world. Stable, boring… 

“’Ferno… are you happy, here. I mean, are you happy with being…” unease skittered over his back struts, it was not like his Creator to stutter like that, to falter and sound unsure. 

“Ahm happy, ‘Tor, as happy as Ah can be in the middle o’ this war,” as anyone could be he figured, almost wishing that Red Alert was here. He was the only other stable constant in his life, maybe the only one now that his Creator seemed to be out of balance. 

But why? 

“And Red’s treating you nicely?” this time he could not help glancing at the small, lithe form of the much older femme. She was never like this! Firestar had never, ever sounded like this in all of his life… From the moment he had been aware she had been strong, capable. She had thought him to fight, to care, to love, to protect. 

“’Tor?” his own voice wavered with uncertainty. 

“I just… this is what I named you after, did you know? Did I ever tell you?” she gestured to the lava below, an expression of guilt crossing her faceplates as she looked up at him. 

“I named you Inferno, I chose…” she halted and shook her helmet sharply. 

“Ya named mah Inferno because ya wanted mah to be strong; ya said ‘one fights fire with fire’ and laughed when Ah painted the wall of the living room with extinguisher foam,” her dermas twisted in a grimace that might or might not be a smile. 

“But was it right? I did not want… this. I did not want a war for you, I didn’t want…” her shoulders drew up and he did the only thing he could, putting his arms around her and pulling her close. 

Inferno had no words of comfort to this; he did not understand her anguish. Maybe one orn he would, when the war was over and he and Red Alert could have a family. 

Maybe then he would ponder names and their meanings, think back on the war and chose things like ‘Bothanica’ and ‘Butterfly’ instead of ‘Firewheel’ or ‘Gunmax’. Maybe they all would think twice about names, futures and the past when they were Creators to the next generation of Cybertronians, struggling to rebuild from the ruin their world was at the present time. 

Or maybe not. 

One thing this world had thought them all was resilience. 

Renewal. 

Each winter the world died, and each spring it came back to life. Inferno might ravage it in the form of fire and lava, or water, or wind, but from the ashes, dust and debris new strength rose, beauty resurrected. 

The inferno was not bad, nor was it good. 

“Ya did right, ‘Tor, ya did better than ya can ever imagine,” he squeezed her a little tighter, pressing a kiss against her helmet. Sometimes it was okay for the Creator to need comfort from the Creation. 

That was part of the cycle too…


End file.
